The Metamorphosis of Malfoy

The Metamorphosis of Malfoy

SongFic based on Portishead's Roads. Blessings to the wonderful Beth Gibbons and Geoff Barrow for their poignant lyrics.

~o0o~

Can't anybody see
We've got a war to fight
Never found our way
Regardless of what they say

I slowly lifted my head, raising it from my hands. A supplement, a prayer to whatever deity existed in this twisted sense of space and time. My eyes stared out at me from the dirty mirror, bloodshot, crimson lines crossing paths against the stark retina, glistening with unshed tears, pain and remorse, glowing within the pallor of my tired and haunted face.

I took a shuddering breath, feeling the air rush through my lungs like fire. My eyes clouded as I watched my reflection lift a delicate hand. I pulled my gaze from the face in the glass, looking instead to my fingers. The smooth skin, usually so pure and clean, was marred with the stains of betrayal. I felt my blood freeze in my veins, certain my insides had turned to ice. My face shot back to the mirror. I was ghostly, drained of whatever color remained, whatever was left there to remind me of my squalid humanity. I swallowed. My hands bothered me, and I wondered why I let them upset me so much. Never before had I felt so impure and soiled. Never before had I felt such profound worthlessness. I realized then and there that I could never wash away the picture of death I had painted with my own aristocratic hands.

How can it feel, this wrong
From this moment
How can it feel, this wrong

Never did I question it. My actions. My motivations. I had trained, I had prepared for it, but nothing could have been more terrifying than the solid reality of what I faced as I stood beside my fellow soldiers two days ago, sealing my fate. The drive and desire that led me to the moment of reckoning had fled into the night like the last rays of the day. Death was on my hands, in my nostrils, leeching into my skin, and I hadn't struck a single blow. Instead, I was sitting in a dirty, smelly bathroom god-only-knows-where when I should have been, was supposed to have been, on the battlefield standing beside the one I swore to uphold in all things. My Lord and Master. My conscience. The one who had filled my head with premeditated victory. With ghastly lies and enigmatic truths.

Watching from behind my mask as the battle raged, I witnessed body after body fall to the ground like a crumpled deck of cards, and I knew. I knew my doubts had been realized. Had risen to consume me, escaping from the flimsy wall I had erected around the last shreds of my humanity, enfolding me in misery and doubt. I stood with my wand dangling limply from my hand, deaf to the sounds of screaming, mute and unable to cry out, my eyes drawn helplessly to scene after scene of horrific violence and devastation. As I watched the earth run red with sacrificial blood, the decimation of my soul began, truth and reality ripping apart my carefully constructed sense of self.

I ran...

Storm.. in the morning light
I feel
No more can I say
Frozen to myself

The rain fell blindingly, stinging my face, pelting against my head, drowning me, obliterating my senses. The dead piled up around me, faceless, motionless, yet I ran, my legs moving of their own will, pulling me further and further from all I had ever believed to be true. That I had been told was true. My lungs burnt, my eyes filled with rain, the tears flowing down my face merging with the tears flowing from the black sky above me. I wept in self-pity, understanding too late that I had been nothing more than a glorified puppet, cuckolded and sightless, dancing to a tune of hate and mislaid ambitions.

At the edge of the charred pit of sin I stumbled, my foot catching on something solid. I fell to my face in the mud; tasting blood and the damp earth, sensing death creep slowly into my veins as I swallowed grimly, taking my failing deep inside myself. I slowly raised my head, blinking away the water from my lashes, tasting the unbearable sweetness of the rain on my lips. My blonde hair hung in my eyes and I pushed it away irritably, turning and craning my neck to see what had interrupted my flight.

It was a body, lying facedown and frozen like a thrown away doll. I stared in silent horrified fascination at this specter of death. I could not tell if it was male or female, my, no, his side or theirs. Gulping down my stomach, I crept forward on my knees, reaching out a tentative hand. Something inside me rebelled, telling me to flee, to get the hell out before it was too late, before he came looking for his lost prince, and I hesitated, immobilized by the selfish desire to save my own skin. I pushed the thought away. As morbid as it felt, I needed to see the victims face, needed to know who it was that had sacrificed themselves for this bitter feud. I needed to know who had the courage to stand and fight, while I tried to run.

I studied the body, noticing its smallness. Female, I told myself undoubtedly, my eyes taking in the slim shoulders and waist, the curved hips and long legs. Blood marred the delicate back, caked from shoulder to shoulder, the fabric of the shirt torn, exposing a deep wound. I sighed. Better that she was dead, I thought, imagining the pain she would have to endure in the world of the living. My hands shook as I slid them underneath the corpse. A groan escaped my lips as I struggled in the mud and blood soaked field, turning the body roughly, flipping it onto its back. I wiped the rain from my face, smearing my cheeks with dead blood. I fancied I heard the dead girl speak, whisper something to me, but I shook my head. She was gone. Remembering why I was doing this, I lifted my eyes to her face, immediately sucking in a breath of shock.

Granger...

My nemesis. My foe. My head swam, and dizzy, I sank into the mud, all strength leaving my body. Seeing her lying bloody and broken in the murky light before me should have been exhilarating, but it wasn't. I couldn't take my eyes off her face; the face I had seen in my dreams, in my nightmares, and in my waking life almost every day for seven years. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted and marred with blood. A cut on her forehead was still bleeding, the blood mixing with the teeming rain, trickling into her hair and soaking into the earth. She was so pale, her skin so white and pure. I felt an incredible sense of sadness rise into my chest, and without realizing it, I was sobbing over her body, my head resting on her torso, my heart breaking with the futility of the war.

From somewhere in my tortured mind I realized she was still warm, her body sodden with rain, but warm under the skin on my face. Only just dead, my thoughts whispered. My sobbing increased until it felt like I was drowning in misplaced grief. I swallowed, lifting my head, looking wildly around in the darkness. We were alone, the battle having been drawn away from us, cries of pain and triumph floating to my ears faintly. I looked down at her again, torn. Where were her friends? Where was that blasted Order? Why wasn't anyone coming to find her? Without another thought, I scooped her body into my arms, disapparating us away from the never-ending stench of death.

I got nobody on my side
And surely that ain't right
And surely that ain't right

We landed roughly on the floor of some dirty Muggle bathroom, and I felt my kneecaps smash with painful clarity on the cold, hard tiled floor. Pain jarred through my head, my vision clouding, and I winced, holding her body tightly. I looked down at her, and shuddered with revulsion and pity. She was so light, so fragile and innocent in my arms. I didn't know exactly why I had brought her lifeless body with me, only that it seemed unfitting to leave her there alone. I shifted her in my arms, not wanting to let her go, my hand coming to rest between her slight breasts, over the apex of her heart. Under my fingers I felt a flicker, and my eyes swung back to her face, stunned. I pushed harder on her chest, and felt the unsteady and weak rhythm patter against my skin.

Panic bubbled up in my chest, and I glanced around in fear. What the hell could I do to help her? Did I really want to help her? I stared down at her face for a long time, my thoughts flying. Perhaps, just perhaps, if I could save her, some of my wickedness would be absolved. Some of the pain and worthlessness I was feeling would vanish. Gently I lowered her body to the floor, alarmed at the amount of blood pooling beneath her head, running from the tiny superficial cut on her forehead. My hands slid away from her, smeared with her warm, sticky blood, and I felt my stomach lurch into my throat. Standing quickly, I stepped over her prostate form, throwing myself into a disgusting cubicle and emptying my insides.

Coming back to her, I caught sight of my own reflection; a tall, lean man in black, pale blonde hair shining in the dim light, blood and mud splattered over my face. My eyes stared back at me, the color of a storm, accusing and hateful, and I blinked in self-loathing, forcing my gaze to the dying woman on the floor. Ignoring the urge to flee, I knelt beside her, taking her limp hand in mine. The warmth had left her body, and I knew that she was fading. I reached into the pocket of my torn and disheveled robes, searching for my wand, but found nothing. I cursed, realizing I must have dropped it while tearing away from the death and destruction of the battle. My eyes traveled down the length of her body. Her wand was still clutched in her hand, and a surge of admiration rose in my chest. She had gone down fighting.

Not wanting to waste any more time, I pried the wand from her cold grip, trying desperately to remember what to do, how to heal someone. The spells came willingly, flying from my lips without thought, and I watched with satisfaction as the wounds on her exposed skin tightened and mended, the rich red blood clotting against her white flesh. With a sigh I sat back, resting against the filthy wall, watching her chest rise and fall in a now steady rhythm. Outside the rain continued to plummet, and I realized I had no idea where we were, or how far away from the fighting I had taken us. All I knew when I apparated us here was that I wished to be somewhere safe, where no one would ever think to come looking.

I closed my eyes, listening to her labored breathing, drifting into a half-sleep full of death and nightmarish visions.

Sometime before dawn the rain stopped. Still sitting with my back against the wall, I watched as the sun made a pitiful attempt to flush the dingy room with light and warmth. I groaned, straightening my stiffened legs, my foot connecting with something soft. Granger. I had almost forgotten about her, caught up in my own misery. Trembling slightly, I leant closer to her, staring at her face. She was not so pale anymore, her breathing steady and stronger than it had been. Gently, I slid an arm under her neck, lifting her up against my chest, running my hand across her shoulders, and feeling the wound there. Her skin was smooth and silky, warm under my hand, and I smiled, satisfied.

She moved in my arms, a small noise escaping her, and my eyes flew to her face, suddenly terrified. How would I explain this to her? My breath caught in my throat as she opened her brown eyes, staring directly into my grey ones. Recognition flashed instantly, and she struggled in my arms, her small hands balled into fists, raining blows on my body. She was too weak to hurt me, so I held her gently at bay, my free hand snaking out to grasp her wrists. Fear filled her face, her eyes blazed hatred at me, and I sighed, feeling defeated.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Granger," I said softly, holding her tightly. Her body stiffened, and she scowled at me.

"I don't believe you, Malfoy," she spat venomously.

"Believe it, Granger. You'd be dead now if it wasn't for me. I saved your life," I said, sounding harsher and bitterer than I felt.

"I don't believe you," she repeated, struggling again. I tightened my grip, pulling her closer to me in the process. Our faces were inches apart, our eyes locked together.

"I didn't think you would," I said flatly, never taking my eyes from hers. "But I did. I found you, I brought you here, and I healed you."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Why?" she asked. "Why did you do it? You hate me. I'm the enemy. I thought you'd be thrilled if I was dead."

"So did I, once, but not anymore. Don't you see, Hermione," I cried suddenly, watching her eyes widen at the use of her first name. "I understand now. I see. The whole thing, this whole stupid bloody war, it's pointless! To many people are dead already. I guess I thought ... if I could save just one ...what the hell have we been fighting for anyway?"

She said nothing, just pinned me against the wall with her strong, powerful eyes.

Can't anybody see
We've got a war to fight
Never found our way
Regardless of what they say

"I don't expect you to understand," I mumbled, dropping my eyes. I heard her sigh.

"Malfoy ... what have we been fighting for? The Order I mean, not your side. We all know what people like you want. What was Dumbledore fighting for? It was never about power, never about winning, about being better than anyone else. It was never about dominance and submission, about who was the stronger wizard, who had the right to be a member of our world. We opposed Voldemort because he threatened to take away our freedom, our existence, and our lives. We have been fighting for ..."

"Peace," I whispered, startling myself. I felt swept up in her words, felt a sense of something stir deep within, and it frightened me. There was such power and compulsion in her soft voice that I felt like confessing all my sins to her, letting them spew from my lips and into her ears.

"Yes. Peace. Change and acceptance. There is no need for one dominant ruling power in our world - we are all powerful and talented. It's taken a war for everyone to realize it, but in the end it was too late. It had to happen," she said softly, regret and sorrow dancing over her features.

She moved in my arms again, and this time I let her go, releasing her gently, helping her to sit against the wall beside me. She turned her head to look at me, and I felt helpless under her gaze, like she was stripping the very fabric of my soul apart, tearing down my walls. I blinked, feeling perilously close to tears.

"I need to get back. I need to find my friends," she whispered, her voice husky with emotion. "Did you see..."

"No. It was dark, raining. I only found you by chance," I replied softly, glancing at her. "I was running away, and I tripped over you. I thought you were dead." I cringed, waiting for her to call me a coward, to sneer at me for running, for failing, but she didn't. She just looked at me sympathetically, tears in her eyes.

"You never wanted to be involved, did you?" she asked gently. I nodded, my chest tight. She surprised me by taking my hand and squeezing it.

"I have to go and find them."

I nodded again, not letting go of her hand. I felt for the first time that I had discovered something real, in her, and I didn't want to give it up. She gently removed my fingers from her hand, reaching for her discarded wand.

"Thank you for saving me. You didn't have to, and I would never have expected you to, but you did," she said softly, looking into my eyes. "I cannot ever forgive you for what you are, or for what you have done in the past, but I can still thank you for what you did for me."

I let my head hang down, shame and regret burning my eyes. When I looked up, she was gone.

How can it feel, this wrong
From this moment
How can it feel, this wrong

I sat with my head in my hands, not moving until the sun sank and darkness reigned again. I had no idea what to do. All was lost. Everything I had ever known was lost. I had seen my father fall, his eyes blank as he was hit with the killing curse. My mother was already dead, murdered before the first days of fighting broke out. I knew I would never forget the sight of her slim body, slumped on the floor beside the grand bed she shared with my father, her eyes open in shock, her mouth twisted with pain, lying in her nightgown on the plush carpet. I had known my father was responsible, so when I watched him die, I felt nothing but victorious, as if it was my hand that had struck him down. I had not seen who had killed him, but deep in my heart, I had hoped it was Potter, or even Granger. It seemed only fitting that the great Pureblood Lucius Malfoy died at the hands of someone he loathed so completely.

The air became chilled, and I stood slowly. Part of me wanted to return to the battlefield, to face my fate and the consequences of my immoral actions. Granger's words about peace and acceptance had affected me more than I thought, and I found myself wanting to sink to my knees before her, and bow my head, a supplicant for all the wrongdoings of my misguided beliefs. I didn't even know if the war was still raging. I didn't have my wand, and I felt helpless and scared without it. I was a powerful wizard, but a poor excuse for a man. I was a coward. I didn't want death to take me, not really. I wanted to live. I wanted to disappear from my world, become someone else; become the real me, whoever that was.

I sighed, feeling torn in half. Granger. Her face, her words, her soft body pulsing with life, rose in my thoughts with powerful force. Without giving myself time to think about it, I concentrated on her face, drawing strength from her courage, and willed myself to her side, knowing that I was signing my own death certificate. At least, I thought as I felt my body plummet to the ground, I was going to die for something I believed in.

No one could take that away from me.

How can it feel, this wrong
This moment
How can it feel, this wrong

Before I had even opened my eyes, the tip of a wand pressed against my cheek.

"Get up, Malfoy," a voice snapped coldly, and I did as I was told. I opened my eyes to see Potter, bleeding and practically ripped apart, step into my field of view. The profound hatred in his eyes sank like a stone into my gut, and I swallowed nervously, totally at his mercy.

"It's over," he said. "Voldemort is gone, and so are you."

I felt a spark of hope rekindle inside me, despite his threat. "You did it, Potter. Thank you," I said softly, meaning every word.

I watched his face drain, his skin bleaching of color, his eyes widen in shock and suspicion. He scowled, his hand tightening on his wand, still pressed against my face.

"What game are you playing, Malfoy?" he snarled. Blood trickled down the side of his face, and with his free hand he wiped it away.

"No game, Potter. Just the truth," I replied, looking him in the eye. He said nothing, just continued to stare at me guardedly, his hand never faltering. I sighed. "If you are going to kill me, please get it over with."

I saw something flicker in his green eyes, and my breath caught in my chest. My life was well and truly in his hands now, and inwardly I sighed, knowing I had never been free in my whole pitiful existence, my fate being passed from one person to the next. Never had I felt so insubstantial.

"Harry! No! Wait!" A voice called from the darkness, and I turned, watching someone approach at a run. Granger came into view, and my heart leapt. She would save me. Her eyes flickered to my face, her expression unreadable. She laid a hand on Potter's, her slim fingers curling around the end of his wand. His eyes shifted to her, disbelieving.

"What are you doing, Hermione? He deserves to die."

She shook her head slightly. "I know that, and I understand how you feel, but he saved my life. He did a good thing, Harry. No matter who or what he is, we cannot dismiss that," she replied gently, her eyes finding mine. "Let the Order decide what to do with him."

I watched Potter consider her words, his wand still held against my face, his eyes troubled, plagued by the same thoughts that haunted my own head. There had been too much death already, too many pointless sacrifices. I waited calmly, pinning all my hopes on the goodness in his soul, on his sincere humanity. He was not a cold-blooded killer. He would not murder an unarmed man, enemy or not. He would let me face my retribution, because that is what he would want. Unhurriedly, as if in slow motion, he lowered his hand, and I let out the breath I didn't know I had been holding. I looked at his face, and he nodded towards Granger, indicating that she was to deal with me, before turning and leaving us.

"Thank you," I whispered, stepping forward, but she lifted her wand in a warning gesture. Understanding, I stepped back, never taking my eyes off her. She stood tall and straight, abhorrence and remorse shading her dark eyes.

"We're even, Draco," she said softly, my name low and unfamiliar on her lips, and I nodded.

Can't anybody see
We've got a war to fight
Never found our way
Regardless of what they say

For the next few days, I watched them bring in the dead, burying them and performing the funeral rites. I was shackled and bound like the other prisoners of war, confined to a fenced area on the edge of the sea of destruction. Every day I was forced to look upon the bodies, to see the final thoughts of the victims stare at me from their lifeless eyes. Grief overtook me, and I broke down, my soul shredded as I saw faces I recognized, from both sides, my body choked with hot tears. I was alone in my remorse, my fellow prisoners sneering at my weakness, laughing at the dead. I turned my face away from them, retreating into my torment.

She alone brought me food and human contact. She became my anchor, keeping me suspended somewhere between dreams and reality. On the fourth day of my imprisonment, she led me outside the fence, her wand held at my back, the sharp tip resting with promise against my spine. She took me to the remaining members of the Order, my head hanging low in shame and guilt as I felt their disgust and hatred rise in waves, crashing over me. A strong hand descended on my shoulder, and I was pushed to my knees in front of them.

"Malfoy," a voice I thought I recognised began, but I did not lift my head to see who was speaking. "You are charged with being a Death Eater, with helping to plan the abduction, torture and deaths of at least twenty people, Muggles among them. You are charged with organizing the raid on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the attempted murder of Professor Albus Dumbledore, and the use of Unforgivable Curses."

I felt my heart sink into my knees.

"However, Hermione Granger has testified on your behalf, relating how you saved her life five nights ago, an action all us found hard to believe. Although this single act does not redeem you, we have come to a decision regarding your fate," the speaker paused, taking a deep breath. "You will be incarcerated at the Headquarters of The Order of the Phoenix for an undetermined time, until we think that you have proven your remorse. You will work for us, helping us track down the Death Eaters who managed to escape in the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat. You will not leave your prison under any circumstances, you will not be allowed a wand, and you will be closely monitored. Accept our offer and your life will be spared."

I raised my head, finding myself staring into the hard blue eyes of Charlie Weasley. His face was like stone, and I dared not refuse him. I nodded.

"I accept."

How can it feel, this wrong
From this moment
How can it feel, this wrong

~o0o~

A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you liked it. Please leave a review if you did, or even if you didn't. I like reviews. Reviews are great.

Cheers guys

MajiKat